Dreams and Other Such Torment
by Basement Bride
Summary: The dark hero discovers a new threat.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own any of these characters, you know the drill.

Chapter 1  
He paced the room restlessly, feeling the cold seeping through his bones. He rubbed his hands together in a feeble attempt to help, but it didn't work. The cold was beating him. He was only like this when he hadn't fed, albeit blood from the local infirmary, but this time it was different. This time it was rejection. And it hurt.  
He walked to the window and looked up at the stars. It smelt cold, icy. The night reflected him. He was cold, icy, in-human. He could not give Buffy what she wanted from him, and now she had moved on. Riley could give her everything he couldn't. Riley was human after all. But he could not move on. Her memory cut through him like shards of glass, tearing his insides to pieces. It would be hard to find someone new. Who would accept a vampire? The truth scared even Buffy, and she was a slayer. He walked away from the window, no longer able to bear the night's unfeeling glare. "I'm going out, Cordelia." "Ok, but have you got your..." She was cut short by the slam of the door. "Keys?"  
He approached twenty-first street with his hands dug deep in his pockets. He knew there was a nest nearby, and thought maybe dusting a couple of vampires would give him a renewed sense of purpose. His stake was tucked into his belt, the most accessible place furthest from his heart. He shuddered, feeling the stake of emotional pain he felt Buffy's memory had driven into him. He struggled to shake the feeling that he was just the shell of a man left behind. Looking up he could see no vampires or demons to slay and a sense of uselessness washed over him. He carried on walking.  
An old building overshadowed the corner of the street menacingly. The windows were peppered with cracks and holes, torn, ragged curtains billowed out and lapped over the window frames. The door had been ripped from its hinges, its twisted remains clung to the frame for support. Roof tiles had slipped from their places, falling to a shattering death on the hard flagged floor. Bricks had been eaten away by the very ivy laid to protect them. Dirt clamoured at the base of the walls, rotten wood creaked and groaned. It whispered pain and suffering to Angel, pain and suffering and death. It was completely devoid of human life, human warmth. Like him.  
He approached the blackened air that held up the doorway and looked deep inside. He listened for any sound, the scrabbling of a rat, the sleeping breaths of a vampire. Nothing came to him. He stepped inside, pushing back a tired cobweb from near his face. In front of him lay a battered crumbling staircase, above a few closed doors and to the side a gaping hole where a door once stood. He could see beyond the darkness of this doorway, his supernatural senses picking out an old fireplace and shards of what had been crates. A white sheet draped itself over a velvet armchair; it's back towards any warmth the fireplace would have given. Loneliness encroached itself on Angel as he stepped into the room. The deathly stillness reached out to him, pulled him in, caressed him. He felt at home.  
His phone rang glaringly into the darkness, shattering his perception and up-heaving his empathy with the room. He fumbled with the inside pocket of his coat, grudgingly pulling the contraption from it's hiding place. Cordelia had said it was the green button to answer it, hadn't she? He pressed it, hoping this creation of a bored warlock would agree with him. For once it did. "Hello?" An exasperated Cordelia answered him. "Angel? It's Cordelia. We have a problem. A demon problem."  
Angel left the house begrudgingly, pausing to take in his surroundings before he left. He picked up his pace as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, covering miles within minutes. The rooftops were free of human habitation, easily passable. He stood in front of the doorway to the old hotel they had taken over as offices, staring at the amber warmth that emanated from the inside. Human warmth crossed the air that stood between him and his offices and he shuddered. Right now he needed the blue iciness of the lonely house. Warmth felt wrong to him, as though he didn't deserve it. He took a few steps towards the entrance and took comfort in Cordelia's voice shrilling through the darkness. Cordelia and Wesley were arguing, as they often did. Their discussions lasted all of three minutes before the name-calling and hair pulling began. Cordelia was so exasperated Angel couldn't hear a word, and he gently opened the door. He slipped in without them noticing. Wesley was waving a thin white booklet under her nose, and Cordelia was staring at him menacingly. "If you had found that earlier we wouldn't have had a problem!" She whipped it from his hands and sauntered off in search of it's owner. The microwave Angel had bought to satiate the food problem had caused more problems than it was meant to solve. He smiled wryly to himself. It wasn't as though he was going to use it anyway.  
Wesley jumped when he saw Angel staring out from underneath the doorway. "Must you come in without a word?" There was still frustration in his voice; Cordelia often had that effect on most people. He wandered off in search of her. Angel glanced around. The makeshift dining table was strewn with the various volumes of demon lore Wesley normally kept neatly on the bookcases. Pages of notes in scrappy handwriting filled in the gaps between the books, several pages of translations had been tossed in annoyance towards the paper bin. A hefty book had been knocked off the table and lay in weak desperation on the floor. It was the usual picture that greeted him when they had been researching. Cordelia wandered in. "That stupid micro thingy doesn't work so I've left it in the capable hands of Sir Read-a-lot." She made her way to the table and sat down, resting her head on her arms. "Who does he think he is anyway? If he had just left me alone when I was hitting it, it would have worked. But no, he has to wander in waving the stupid book thingy, which is written in a foreign language, and he waves the damn thing in my face! If the English in it was written in English we'd be getting somewhere." Angel merely smiled at her. There was no point saying anything. Instead he began to look at the pages of notes peeking out between the books. They had been researching a demon, Lorek. Angel had never heard of it. He skimmed the book opened in front of him and found nothing about Lorek. They had had a hard time finding what they needed. Wesley appeared behind them. "Gunn said there had been a raising, or what he thought was a raising. There were burn marks on a patch of ground and scraps of burnt paper. I couldn't read the language very well, some sort of demon language, but I recognised a name..." Cordelia butted in, "So book boy has had us looking for it. Its like no one has ever seen it or heard of it, completely impossible to find..." "But I've heard the name before. We found this." Wesley handed a smooth piece of paper to Angel. The words were written in Latin; Wesley had copied them out and corrected the abbreviations. It was very short. Angel skimmed it. "Lorek...not in our dimension...cannot be seen...exploits fears, dreams...kills from the inside...the usual then?" Wesley looked surprised. "That's all we could find on him."  
"So?"  
"Nearly all encounters have gone unrecorded. That means only one of his victims survived."  
"Should I be worried?"  
"That's up to you." Wesley closed the book in front of him. "You kill them, I research them."  
"Ok. I'm going to bed. You two should go home. Get some sleep." Cordelia found her bag hidden in the scene of destruction and fished for her keys. They were, as usual, lost. Wesley waved them in front of her and she snatched them from him. They left soon after.  
Angel watched them. He needed to be alone. He turned off the light and the room was plunged into darkness. Better. His supernatural sight guided him to the one room in the hotel that was his and his alone. His bedroom was cheery, yellow wallpaper with a flower border, but now it seemed garish. Everything should be dark and gloomy, he was repenting after all. He felt like a hypocrite. Hadn't he said he loved Buffy? He did love Buffy, and yet he had left her just because their relationship would be hard. He could not give her what she deserved, a real life, but he still could have tried. He realised that he was grieving for their relationship, as though he had lost her through death. And now she had Riley, and no longer needed him.  
Angel peeled off his black attire and clambered into bed. Maybe sleep would give him temporary relief. He was cold, he hadn't eaten. He pulled the covers up around him, and drifted into a troubled sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

I don't own any of these characters, you know the drill

Buffy stood just a few feet away from him; her hand was outstretched towards him. Something glinted in her palm, and Angel felt a pang of recognition. The Celtic ring, the ring Angel had given her as a symbol of his love. The hands joined around a single heart, friendship and love. He looked up at her face and saw the sweet smile she bore for him, had always bore for him. She was here, and now he could reach out and actually touch her. She was no longer miles away in Sunnydale. He approached her; she stood, still with her hand outstretched. He touched her hand and it felt cold, her expression did not change. Around him the black sky was crippled with thunder and lightning, the stone courtyard in which they stood crumbled as he watched. The air was thick and seemed suffocating. He couldn't understand how Buffy could survive in it. As he watched Buffy turned to him, and her expression changed. A tear slid down her cheek and she dropped the ring. It landed amidst a cloud of dust obscuring it from his view. Buffy turned away from him. Angel was confused, why was she turning away from him? He reached out for her, tried to grab hold of her, but she was fading away like a long lost memory. He frantically tried to hold on to her, but soon he was alone in the desolation that lay around him. The sky, riddled with searing lightning seemed to close in around him, the stone walls of the courtyard receded into the earth. The darkness seemed to be entering his very soul, searching him, consuming him. It wrenched his mind from his body and tossed him like a scrap downwards. Below him rocks clambered upwards to meet him, and he let himself go limp as they hit him, hard.  
Angel woke with a start, confused as the yellow wallpaper registered in his brain. Cold ravaged his skin and yet the room was warm. Around him was completely different to where he had been, where had he been? Angel thought backwards. "Buffy," he breathed. He had been dreaming of her. Angel wiped the sleep from his eyes. His alarm clock read 3:30. He always seemed to wake on the dot. But he didn't always let his emotional torment invade his subconscious thoughts.  
Angel clambered quickly into the shower and let a blast of cold water hit him. It shocked him completely awake. As he dressed he heard Cordelia shriek as she dropped a pile of books. Wesley laughed and helped her pick them up. Angel did not feel ready to face them but he knew he would have to. Sooner or later Gunn would turn up or Cordelia would come upstairs to wake him. He opened the door to his room and began his descent down stairs.  
"Hey," Cordelia said happily. "Your coffees on the table. Gunn's comin' around 5, when it starts going dark. We've been doing more research but we haven't found anything yet." Cordelia could always pinpoint when he would get up, she always had his coffee ready and always filled him in on anything he had missed immediately as he was walking down the stairs. She was holding several sheets of crisp paper stapled neatly in the corner. Since Cordelia had become his employee she had changed a great deal. She was still Cordelia, no one could remove her annoying charm, but she was no longer so... self orientated. Angel valued her as a friend.  
Angel slumped onto the couch with his coffee. He stared into it, realising it would in no way feed him at all. He watched it as he stirred it slowly. The coffee formed downward spirals as it twisted and turned. Wesley was watching him. "Rough night?" "No, rough dream." Wesley sensed he didn't want to talk about it. Angel felt Cordelia's eyes skim over him. She was concerned. The episode with Darla and the cramping powder had shaken them all. She paid as close attention to his dreams as he did to her visions. "Could it have anything to do with Lorek?" She chirped. Wesley shot her a warning glance. Angel answered her anyway. "No, probably my tortured soul playing up again." Cordelia accepted this and went in search of a book that Wesley had earlier requested, and to his annoyance had not yet received.  
As Angel finished his coffee the front doors opened widely letting sunlight fall dangerously close to Angel's feet. The only person who could walk in without any concern for the vampire torch act was Gunn. He was early. That, by definition, was a miracle. "Shut the door Gunn!" Wesley and Cordelia darted towards him as Angel shrank back from the smouldering sunlight. "Idiot!" Only Cordelia was allowed to chastise him like that. "Cordy! Still saving my life?" "You're alive aren't you?" She spat with a wide smile. Gunn grinned. Wesley managed to close the door and Angel finally relaxed his legs now the light was gone. "Yo Vampy bro. Got a demon problem. On a killing spree downtown. You up for it?" "Can it wait until dark?" "No. It's holed up in a warehouse. Be easier if we kill it now." Angel let out a sigh. "Fine."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Gunn reached the abandoned warehouse quickly; he had already scouted it out before going to Angel. Angel himself had followed in the sewer network beneath the waking streets of L.A. He came up and out of the sewers in shadow; the sun was still high in the sky. Daylight scared Angel, it had the power to completely take away his life and burn through his soul, and yet to him it held an ethereal beauty which intoxicated him. Angel surveyed the perimeter of the warehouse silently, his axe weighed heavy in his hand. The door was the only way in and out except for a small barred window that opened into direct sunlight. An old sewer appendix seemed to lead underneath the building but he could not tell if it opened inside. Their only option was to blast through the front door. Angel repositioned himself in front of the big heavy door which hid the entrance to the warehouse, and with an almighty kick Gunn and Angel smashed through.  
Darkness presented itself to them, cold, soothing darkness. Angel detected the presence of the demon immediately. He could smell it's clammy sweat clinging to the air and it's breath polluting the fibres of his skin. He could smell human blood dissipating into the cold hard concrete. He could not however tell where it was. It seemed to be in front of them, and he signalled to Gunn to advance with him.  
As they approached the back wall of the warehouse Angel doubled over in disgust. The smell of the demon was so rank it seemed to seep into his brain. Gunn stared at him. "You okay?" Angel coughed forcibly. "Fine... Fine." "You vampires and your supernatural senses." Angel shot him a look from behind bleary eyes. They continued towards the smell that was overpowering Angel. As they approached it, they realised it was much bigger than them, and as it came into view Gunn let out an involuntary gasp. Towering over them was a Nary demon, it's hair like spines protruding from it's skin, it's luminous eyes piercing through them. Angel shifted the axe in his hand ready for the onslaught. The demon clumped toward them with blood dripping from the spines on his arms, behind him a body lay doubled over crumpled on the floor. As it came towards them Angel lifted his axe and swiped at it's head. He missed the head but a few spines clattered to the floor. The demon cried out angrily and Gunn jumped at it with his homemade axe. With one swift movement Gunn was sent flying into a wall, the indent he made sent ripples and cracks through it. Gunn slumped down unconscious.  
Angel was angered by the attack on Gunn and without thinking he changed into his vampire self. He dived on the demon, slashing, punching and kicking. Spines flew everywhere, some narrowly missing the unconscious Gunn as they fired into the wall. As he brought the demon to his knees Angel snapped it's neck with a flick of his wrist. The demon collapsed on the floor, dead. Angel kicked it aside and went to help Gunn.  
From the shadows a pair of disembodied red eyes followed him as he dragged Gunn to his feet and supported him as they left the warehouse. Gunn was sporting a nasty cut to the back of his head, Angel had returned to his normal self. The eyes watched Angel feel a shiver as he felt something watch them, but he shrugged it off. As they left the eyes seemed to move backwards, holding their position as a body shimmered into shape below them. A female form, complete with now blue eyes materialised amidst red light. It was still changing, forming and reforming until it was happy with it's new shape. It stretched out, feeling the power in it's new muscles and the warmth in it's new fingers. It was dressed in a red skin-tight top and black pants. It's blonde hair fell in soft wisps around it's face. It smiled.

As Angel's car roared away, Buffy stepped from the shadows.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Angel supported the precarious Gunn through the back entrance and into the hotel they used as offices. It was growing darker outside but Angel did not yet feel safe. Cordelia helped them inside, immediately sending Wesley for the now huge first aid kit they kept always on hand. Cordelia was more used to bandaging vampire wounds but she accepted the challenge. Angel allowed Gunn to slump down onto the couch drowsily and then placed their two axes on a shelf out of the way. Cordelia quickly dealt with the cut on the back of Gunn's head without the usual fuss she made with Angel. Angel could see worry lines etched into her face. She knew Gunn would not heal as fast as Angel. Angel smiled. It would be nice if Cordelia was with someone.

Buffy was struggling to get the co-ordination of her limbs right as she made her way to Angel's apartment. Her legs refused to work together and her arms were flailing wildly every time she put a foot down on the pavement. Buffy stopped as she noticed a tramp holding a large empty tequila bottle staring in amusement at her. She finally fixed her walk enough to stroll menacingly over to him. The tramp laughed. "You jusht ash drunk as me then?" he asked. Buffy laughed. Then she snapped his neck.

Buffy approached the hotel with caution, her steps still slightly uncoordinated. She slowed as she reached the door, unsure of what to expect. If Angel detected that she was not really who she appeared to be that would be the end of the guise and she would be discovered. If Angel did not, how would it continue? Her plan was not completely formed yet; everything depended on the reactions she received. If Angel played along she would destroy him from the inside out, ripping his emotions to pieces along the way. She knew Angel was torn over Buffy, she could see into his soul, which was why she had assumed her form. Anticipation was brewing inside of her as she realised Angel could hear her faltering footsteps. She approached the door, and knocked.

Angel was wandering over to the locked front door. Cordelia watched him cautiously, she knew he could hear things she could not, and she could hear nothing. It was usually that way, he sensed the clients that came to their door, she was the bringer of visions that led to normally non-paying clientele, and those were the more frequent type they received. Not that she was bitter about it, after living in Sunnydale she knew how many people needed their specific type of help. It was the weak poor people the demon kind picked on. Like Xander. She was sad she had left him behind, but not sorry. He cramped her style.

She heard the knocking at the door as Angel reached it. Wesley managed to drag his head out of those dreaded books she so often found herself poring over week after week, and Gunn looked up expectantly. She shot him a look to tell him to lie back down; a head wound was not to be taken lightly. It occurred to her that she liked him, and was definitely worried about him. She was hardly ever worried about Angel. He knew what he was doing most of the time. Except when it came to Buffy, then he was weak at the knees. She didn't like that so much.

Angel opened the door expecting to see a scared bedraggled human in need of his help, their steps had been faltering, almost as though they couldn't walk. What was presented to him was completely different. In front of him stood a beautiful, confident Buffy, dressed in black pants and a figure hugging red top. Her hair fell about her face in soft wisps and her big blue eyes stared at him gently. A smile played on her lips. Angel took an involuntary gasp even though he didn't normally breathe. Surprised, he took a wobbly step back. Buffy's smile widened. "I take it you didn't expect to see me," she said, quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Now Cordelia was riled. Buffy was a threat to the tranquillity she had worked so hard to achieve in their new place. Hadn't she put up with them in her apartment for a week, then cleaned this hotel top to bottom? Well, the ground floor anyway. She could see Angel didn't know what to do, whether to touch her arm or speak quietly or what. In his face he was questioning her being here, but at the same time it was overcome with longing... and pain.

Angel watched as Buffy swept in, her head held high, her confidence full. He had to stifle the desire to touch her, to hold her. She had a new life now; she was in college, sorting out her life, getting over him. Why was she here? Her presence cut through him deeply. He had hurt her very soul, left her when she needed him most, he had just walked away. He hadn't even said goodbye. Why was she here? Maybe it's a demon, he thought, that she needs help with. She could be visiting her father. He was searching for reasons, not wanting to admit to himself that she could have come to see him. No, no. Probably a demon, he thought.

"I came to see you," she said, "I miss you."

I miss you. The words cut through him like a knife in butter. How could she forgive him for what he had done to her? Buffy turned to him and stared silently at his tortured face. Inwardly she smiled, outwardly she made her very best concerned face. "Are you ok?" Silently Angel mulled over her words. Am I ok? Of course not. I hurt you, not the other way around. "Fine," he lied smoothly, "just fine." She smiled at him, and he melted. "Are you? I mean, are you...ok?" Angel suddenly felt embarrassed, Gunn, Wesley and Cordelia were transfixed on them, watching every move. Buffy felt it. "Come on," she ordered gently, taking his arm and pulling him towards the staircase. He stared in wonder at her touch, but gladly followed.

"Which is your room?" Buffy asked, and Angel stared at her, her question slowly registering in his brain. "The left," he said, pointing meekly. She guided him in, sat down next to him on the bed. As she ran her hand up his arm, Angel was suddenly struck with the inappropriate nature of the situation. They were in his room, no one but him was usually allowed in there. And Buffy was near him. She lay her head onto his arm. "Don't leave me again," she whispered, as she pulled him close, "please." Angel gasped as she moved to kiss him, tried desperately to stop himself responding, but he couldn't. He held her face as they kissed, held each other tightly. Angel melted into her embrace, but then jumped back, alarmed. Buffy stared at him questioningly. She felt...wrong. She smelt wrong. His senses told him that she wasn't Buffy, his eyes, his mind, his need told him otherwise. He backed away, unsure what to do. Her eyes stared at him, anger creeping in the sides. "What, what are you?" he asked, exasperated. The anger in her eyes grew. Then they changed, turned hard, cold, and red. "I'm your worst nightmare." She said.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Cordelia watched as Angel was sent hurtling on his back, head first,  
down the stairs. He hit the bottom hard, and the pain caused his face to  
change into it's vampire form. Cordelia was surprised, she expected  
them to talk, and maybe kiss, but kill each other? She thought that was  
kept only for when Angel lost his soul. Wesley stared at her, just as  
confused. They couldn't have done it in the five seconds they were  
upstairs, could they? No, don't be stupid. He wouldn't, would he? Cordelia  
scolded herself. Your supposed to trust Angel now, remember? Buffy was  
stepping slowly down the stairs. Her face was swathed in shadow. Weird,  
Cordelia thought. She was trying to figure out whether or not to help  
Angel, or Buffy. Wesley was considering asking them to stop, politely, but  
reconsidered when Angel was sent skidding across the floor by a  
resounding roundhouse kick to the jaw.  
Angel managed to get a few weak hits in, but in no way did they  
compare to the stinging hits he was receiving. He couldn't seem to fight  
back, was he holding back, did he really want to hurt this creature? It  
looked like so much like Buffy. A punch smacked it's way deep into his  
cheek, and he suddenly woke up. If he was going to survive then he would  
have to fight back.  
Cordelia decided to help Angel, Buffy was acting weirdly. She should  
have stopped hitting him and let him speak to her at least. She hit  
Buffy over the head with a plant pot. As it smashed into smithereens Buffy  
turned to her. Wesley watched as Cordelia crashed heavily into the wall  
near him, and decided to help. He ran to hit Buffy, but as she faced  
him he was stopped in his tracks. Her red eyes bore deep into him, and he  
suddenly realised he was not going to win a physical fight with her.  
"Lorek," he breathed. She smiled at him evilly, then turned back to  
pulverising Angel.  
Wesley was kick started into action. Cordelia had been knocked out but  
he didn't have time to see to her. He dragged a huge book down from the  
precarious bookcase and flicked through it. Binding spell... where the  
hell are you? He found a tired looking page deep in the depths of the  
book which read 'Binding Spell. To bind a demon from doing harm.' Bingo.  
He sprinkled some herbs around him and threw small clove like seeds at  
the demon. He began to read the Latin, praying and hoping.  
Angel hit the floor again, and pain shot through his body. He felt a  
rib crack as he hit the floor, not good. He couldn't get up. Buffy stood  
at his feet. "I am here to take you from this life, you know that," she  
stated. Angel became aware of faint chanting in the background, but he  
was more concerned with the monster at his feet. "It could have been  
easier for you if you had accepted me. But the end would have been the  
same. Now I have to take you like this, barbarically. I prefer the gentle  
method; I like a soul to come willingly. It's so much easier." The  
demon sat down on his chest, and Angel cried out in pain. She leaned over  
his face. "It didn't have to be this way." She cupped his face in her  
hands, and Angel could only watch as her eyes glowed a pumpkin orange. He  
felt himself grow weaker as the monster drained his being away, until  
he could control his limbs no longer. Finally, he let go.  
A blue light shot from Wesley's hands and hit the monster full force  
in the chest. She was carried backwards by it's momentum, smashed into a  
wall. It's small body made a remarkably large dent in the wall. As it  
dropped it was caught up by more blue light. The light enveloped it,  
contorted it, bound it. The monster's screams filled the electrified air  
as it fought against the light. Buffy's form shrank back to reveal red  
swirling energy contained by the blue light. A final blood-curdling  
scream was heard before it disappeared.  
Cordelia had been woken by the noise and she shook plaster from her  
hair. Wesley ran to Angel, who was still lying on the floor, his eyes  
closed and his face peaceful. "Oh, God," Wesley thought, "I was too late."  
Cordelia staggered over, and looked at Angel in horror at him lying on  
the floor. She looked at Wesley. "He's not dead, is he?" She said to  
him. "If a vampire is dead, it should be dusted, right? He's still,  
whole. Hit him, wake him up." Wesley looked at her. "You hit him. If he  
wakes up, he can be broody to you." They continued arguing, not noticing  
Angel slowly opening his eyes. He stared up at them, realising he was  
lying on the floor underneath them, their argument loomed over him.  
Dangerous position, he thought. His head throbbed as he stood up, and his  
eyes were bleary. "Be a man, hit him!" "No, you hit him, oh, he's up."  
Angel stared at them. "Yeah, I'm up. Is it dead?" Wesley stared at him. "  
I killed it." He said, pride etched into his voice. "Good."  
A pair of red eyes stared outwardly into the warehouse. They were  
dimmer now, weaker. It could see the spiny body of a Nary demon slowly  
disintegrating as days passed by. He could no longer hold his form, he had  
been zapped of his supernatural energy and was struggling to keep just  
his eyes open. But he was angry. No vampire was going to defeat him. He  
had been the harbinger of death for longer than any mortal or immortal  
had walked this earth. No pathetic whinging vampire was going to defeat  
him. The soul of the Nary demon was still fluttering above his head,  
unable to accept it's death. It was weak, but still sustenance. It wailed  
painfully as Lorek took it. As Lorek digested, he felt his eyes glow a  
little brighter, and his eyes hover a little steadier. No, no vampire  
was going to defeat him. For he was Lorek, bringer of death. He would  
return, and return soon. Then dead boy would be dust dissipating beneath  
his feet.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
Epilogue

He was pining for her, she with the golden hair and the beautiful  
face. Alone now, in his room, he clutched a small black and white  
photograph of her. A silent tear meandered down his cheek. He never let anyone  
see him like this. He still loved her, the pain he felt gnawed away at  
his insides. Lorek, in Buffy's form, had almost killed him, because his  
heart would not let him fight with anything that reminded him of her.  
He heard Cordelia shut the heavy hotel door on her way out, and heard  
both Wesley and Cordelia's footsteps heading down the street. The room  
was cold and dark, reflecting a part of him buried deep inside. A part  
that had to stay buried, no matter what the cost. That was why he  
couldn't be with her, couldn't allow himself that blissful happiness. They had  
to stay apart. He couldn't risk letting her get hurt again. He didn't  
want to risk her getting hurt again.  
He placed the photo on the small bedside cabinet and turned away from  
it. He knew he needed sleep, he was weak, needed rest. But he knew that  
sleep would not come easily to him, would never soothe his tortured  
soul. He snuggled down into the covers, realising that he could not get  
warm. It did not matter. Vampires were cold, dead creatures. He needed  
little comfort to rest. As sleep finally came to him, he thought of Buffy  
again, allowed her form to encroach on his dreams, and allowed his  
dreams to torment him.

The end


	8. Chapter 8

Usual Disclaimer, I don't own any of these characters, you know the drill.

Around him, life continued. Cars sped by the window, the rubber of their tyres sometimes squealing on the road, their horns sometimes beeping in anger or desperation. People still walked down the street, the faint traces of lingering perfumes clung on to the air. The trees still rustled gently in the wind. The stars flickered across the sky, frozen there like the wounds of stigmata. Sparse clouds meandered their way gently across the sky like clumps of grey cotton wool. Shops were shutting up for the night, bars and clubs were opening, people were living. But reality stopped with him.

The room was filled with a sense of unreality. The white walls, although solid and steadfast, seemed to close in on him at every opportunity. The faint murmur of voices passing the outside of the closed door reached him like a thousand garbled messages all rolled into one. The gentle persistent beeping of the unit next to him did little to comfort him. He could hear the steady dripping of the thick liquid in the bag next to him, supported by a feeble metal stand. Various drawers held various implements and drugs and the differences between life and death.

He stared at the brainwave monitor with one last lingering hope. Still nothing. The line was flat, no curves, no bumps, no nothing. She was gone, only her shell lived on. There was nothing he could do. The fight had taken everything, her friends, her sister, her life. She had saved the world again, and only he knew it. But this time it had finally taken her.

For a long time he stared at her peaceful face, her closed eyelids, the outline of her mouth. How he loved her. He brushed his hand against her cheek, hoping for something, anything. But nothing came. Death was her gift, he knew that now. The release from the pain of her life. Silently he begged her forgiveness for what he was about to do, and somewhere he knew he had it. Let me go, her soul whispered. Let me go. His hand shakily moved to the controls of the life support machine. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as he gently removed the plug. He waited. The bleeping of the heart machine slowly faded until he could only hear one continuous bleep. But there was nothing from her, no final struggle, no throes. The Slayer was beaten.

He laid a final kiss on her forehead. The nurses arrived, bustling to remove both him and her from the room. He was not needed here now. He was needed elsewhere. Resolve suddenly filled him and a realisation of what he must do, what he needed to do. He left the hospital quickly, driven by a strength he had not felt in years. His car flew down the freeway, his hotel soon looming over him. Home.

But this was not Home, he realised. Home was in her arms, not in some building. Mulling his thoughts over he climbed to the roof of the hotel. Three minutes, no more than that. The sky was already tinged with blood, the birth of the day imminent. The world would continue. Day would always turn to night, and night would always turn to day, she had seen to that. The strongest Slayer in history, the saviour of the world, lay dead, and yet only he mourned her. But not for long. Soon he would be with her, wherever she was. Finally the first shards of splintering sunlight crawled above the horizon, and he was crippled by the pain. It didn't matter, nothing mattered. His clothes began to melt into his skin as he was engulfed in flames, but he could no longer feel it. He could hear her, calling to him, welcoming him. Home. The last flakes of his dust spread in the freedom of his last sunrise as his soul left him to join her. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Together in Death.


End file.
